Jeeves and The Hot Pursuit
by Amethystaura
Summary: Jeeves gives the customary trip to Maiden Eggesford the slip, to suddenly go to New York. Bertie, not about to holiday in the company of a substitute valet, gathers his resources to delve to the bottom of the affair, with hilarious & dashed sexy results!


For those of you that have religiously followed my memoirs, I would have advised you to go solve a crossword or take the dog for a run while I delve into the past, had it not been for a bucketful of discrepancies as compared to the original draft. And those of you that have taken a well deserved break from my eccentricities, as I once overheard Jeeves calling them, hop in for a recapitulation.

As per Jeeves' golden rules of recording written installments: "Superfluity and succinctness are mutually exclusive. The former is by all means to be avoided to make way for the latter." Which apparently means something along the lines of being "lucid and concise", when we consider the opinion of a certain Orlo J. Porter, with whose hot political ambitions we shall not bother ourselves. There, I have done it again and gone skimming through the past while you have been no doubt left wondering who the devil that egg is. Anyhow, as I said, I had better get on with it before confusion becomes rife.

It all began with the pink spots that so impudently popped up on my chest. When I brought the menace to Jeeves' attention, apart from advising me against scratching them and then going on to familiarise me with Barbara Frietchie, he had been distinctly aloof. And I had a mighty uneasy gut feeling that it had nothing to do with the p.s.. Nonetheless, I decided to put the g.f. on the back burner, as it were. I then went about the task of telephoning my American pal, Tipton Plimsoll, with whom I had been dining the previous night to celebrate his betrothal to Veronica, with whose sturdy family tree we shall not worry ourselves.

Considering that I had been as fit as ten fiddles ever since my last appoinment with measles, I jolly well could not rattle off the names of physicians who knew their spots and blemishes backwards. But along came Tipton to my aid, recommending a certain E. Jimpson Murgatroyd, with whose dashed commonsensical methods of diagnosis we shall yet again not trouble ourselves. The gist of my long-awaited return to the doctor's chamber remains that he wrote off the spots as symptoms of my being "the typical young man about town" and indications of "total collapse at any moment."

The doctor and I both agreed that it would be a spiffing arrangement were I to go and stay with my Aunt Dahlia in Market Snodsbury, Worcestershire, when I told him that excursion trains were run merely for people to breathe the wholseome air. I had spent the return journey, from his chamber to my nest, agonising over how to procure an invitation from my father's sister, for though she might be the best thing since sliced bread, she has been known to regret having saved me from choking on my rubber comforter when an infant. It was only after I tootled her that I came to discover that she had been packing to go stay with the Briscoes, and hence would not be in a position to host me unless I wanted to be cooped in a cabin with my connoisseur of an Uncle Tom.

And so in a nutshell, Aunt Dahlia offered to get me another cottage from Jimmy Briscoe in Maiden Eggesford, with honeysuckle climbing over the door, and the quiteness that was conducive to good health. I could also mention that she told me of the races at Bridmouth near where the Briscoes lived, but that would be superfluous. And so Bertram Wooster and his man would be legging it to Maiden Eggesford, giving the customary visit to New York a miss...which I assumed would be a royal disappointment to him. All that remained now was to break the news to Jeeves, and I rather shrank from the prospect. And this, my patient audience, is where the tale begins.

I cannot say that I broke the news with what you would call aplomb, but I took pains to mask my hesitation. The long and short of it was the dangerous calm that followed, and what he said while I was taking a leisurely sip of water.

"It is with the deepest regret, sir, that I inform you of my inablility to accompany you to Maiden Eggesford," the blighter issued with a sigh.

If you think I spluttered and stared, think again, for I laughed it off as one of the practical jokes that he had of late taken to springing on me for the purpose of studying my reactions. So I decided to play along, beat him at his own game, that kind of thing. "Eh? I thought I heard you say you weren't tagging along."

"You heard correctly, sir", Jeeves murmured stiffly.

When your beloved valet decides to plunge in headlong without considering your predicament, 'tis strong stuff. I lowered the glass a teeny bit, and studied the beautiful, unflinching face. Great Scott, he was perfectly serious. Dripping with repentance, as it were.

"It is but a recent development, sir," persisted Jeeves, as he got rid of the glass and busied himself in rubbing my back in an attemp to alleviate, if 'alleviate' means what I think it means, my fit of spluttering and spewing. I skipped the part about getting myself a second check-up, and continued with the interrogation.

"What?'

"I cannot accompany-"

"Dash it, I got that! But how the blazes do you expect me to-"

Jeeves drew himself up to his full height and hastened to discourage my agitation. "I had deduced, sir, that in all probability the doctor would for you suggest a change of air. And therefore in your absence, I made all arrangements for the agency to deploy a substitute-"

"No doubt they'll send me a doddering humbug who'll prowl through my socks and mix dollops of mustard in my tea and- What makes you smile?"

His finely chiselled features were suffused with amusement at this backhanded compliment to his excellence. "I assure you, sir, that Hammonds is exceedingly sincere and what we at the Junior Ganymede call a stickler for perfection."

I did not like the sound of 'stickler'. Nor did I like the fact that he was beating around the bush like a rebel of the feudal spirited clan. Saying thus, I hurtled to the heart of the matter.

"And where precisely are you legging it?"

Jeeves regarded me with the air of a chef that whipped up a delicious spread before it was ordered. "New York, sir."

I groaned, swallowing an urge to go off my rocker but deciding against it as it would probably pass him like the idle wind, and what not. "And what awaits you there, Jeeves?"

Jeeves was the spitting image of perfect gravity. "I am apologetic for having failed to inform you earlier, sir, but I have an aunt, a Mrs. P. B. Pigott, who resides in New York. Her psychological health is in a regrettable condition... In fact, if I may clarify the matter at hand, she is a victim of manic depression."

I staggered like a thing unstable, not because of the spots but at having realised that not all unbalanced relatives belonged to me. "And why this sudden desire to play tiddlywinks with her?"

"My aunt harbours an unfortunate skepticism regarding outsiders, and hence, despite having found herself in dire straits over her finances, refuses to consult a solicitor. Therefore I am obliged to intervene at the earliest opportunity, for I am her favourite nephew."

I thought of mentioning that I too was someone's favourite nephew, but found myself revising the facts. "Hmph! Senile, is that right? Ahem, senile aunts are all acceptable but what I don't see is why I can't give Maiden Eggesford the slip and come along with you. "

Jeeves raised his eyebrow an eighth of an inch. "I remind you, sir, that my aunt has what could be described as an antisocial temperament, and hence an encounter with you would not only further degrade her health but render her unapproachable later on. Besides, Dr. Murgatroyd would raise an objection, if I am not mistaken."

So there you see, all that Bertram could possibly have done was stared goggle-eyed at the blighter and then admit defeat in the right spirit. Sulking and pouting however seemed more like it. Jeeves eventually melted and moved in to lay a comforting hand on my hand on my shoulder.

"Sir, it is not-"

I grabbed him by the coattails and pulled him right up against me, pressing my mouth to his. My hands worked their way down to cup his buttocks, and grind his groin against mine. Jeeves groaned as I delved into the warmth of his mouth, sloshing my tongue around and about merrily. He responded warmly by clutching at my shoulders, but the intimacy was not to last as an idea came whizzing into my head.

"I say," I said breathlessly, "what if this Hamilton develops an unprofessional attraction towards me? It wouldn't be a dashed pleasant situation, eh?"

Jeeves smirked in superior amusement, as he trailed a hand lovingly down my cheek. "I strongly doubt the occurrence of such a development, sir, considering _Hammonds_' rather orthodox upbringing and decidedly conservative political opinions. And even so," he pecked my forehead, as my distress was quite evident, "I have reason to believe you would not respond to his overtures."

And before I could say "Hey nonny nonny," he was gone by the following morning.

**********************************************

It so transpired that Hammonds was far from being the snivelling, sock-pinching humbug I had been prejudiced to think he would be. Meticulous (if that's the word) and efficient about his work , he was every bit as stuffy as Jeeves had intimated. This observation is primarily based on the fact that he assumed an uncanny resemblance to a prune-faced old governess of mine whenever so much as a colloquial syllable passed my lips, (according to Jeeves I've a brimmimg stock of 'colloquialisms'). As well as that the fellow, under an attack of what one would call "sartorial propriety", insisted on personally segregating my wardrobe for the trip into "casual to the point of indifference", "ostentatious to the point of seeking attention", and "sedate to the point of respectability".

Nonetheless since I chose to humour his oddities, which was simple considering I have encountered some award winning specimens, I noticed a crater full of well fostered values and traditions, waiting to erupt if encouraged. And so it was on a chilly evening a week prior to our journey, that I learnt for the umpteenth time, how to appreciate an outburst of old-fashioned sentiments.

"Hammonds," I ventured, "I'm in a bit of a dilemma here, if that's what I'm in."

The reaction was flipping. "Indeed sir," he asked, beady eyes aglow with valet-ine concern, "Would you care to confide in me?"

I hemmed and hawed while considering the proposal, and then decided to stop splitting hairs. "It's regarding my valet, you see..."

Hammonds did the kind of somersault that steely-jawed Johnnies perform without actually budging an inch. That is to say it was if he were seized by a sort of fleeting epileptic fit, probably akin to what one undergoes when whacked into the midst of a divine revelation. "Jeeves...", he spoke as if the syllable soiled his lips.

Ordinarily, if anyone displayed the least disregard for my man, I would sprout an impulse to watch them trapped in a lift with an emotionally charged Honoria Glossop. And of course, if by a stroke of rotten luck, the offender in question considered the above to be a privilege, I would nevertheless gloat if I caught him or her dangling from the jaws of some nasty reptile. However, it was simply curiosity to know why a man of whom Jeeves had spoken in no slight terms somersaulted at his mention, that kept me from going up in arms. So I thought it wise to continue.

"You're probably well up to date on how it's an unspoken agreement of sorts that Jeeves weld himself to my side, figuratively speaking, while travelling and the likes."

"So I was given to understand, sir."

"This hullaballoo of his suddenly abandoning me for the sake of...of...however you choose phrase it, came down on me like a ton of bricks."

Once again, that colloquialism-induced puckering of the features. "Unforeseen familial obligations, if I am not mistaken? You are visibly perturbed, sir."

"Ah, so that's what they call this system of attending to batty old aunts at the drop of a hat. Don't get me wrong Hammonds... It's not that I can't put up with the fact that the man has an invalid aged relative, whose only contact with reality is probably an awfully dependable nephew."

This time, the p of f followed by a repeat performance of the pseudo-epileptic fit. "In_deed_ sir? In that case.... an admirable accomodation on your part."

The problem with these unflappable birds is that there's many a slip 'tween the cup and the lip that goes unnoticed by the average chump. Consider the following hypo-whatsit conversation:

A.C.: "The finest girl on earth will be due in about an hour, then!"

U.B.: "Indeed she is...sir."

A.C.: "You've got her preferences down pit pat, have you not?"

U.B.: "Quite, sir."

A.C.: "Smoked salmon casseroles?"

U.B.: "Smoked, sir?... Steaming and appetising...to the fullest."

A.C.: "Petunias in pink ceramic vases?"

U.B.: "Pink, sir?... A sanguine complexion...much like that on the _roses_."

A.C.: "And lastly, that snippet of soppy poetry you handed me...it's Wordsworth, is it not? You know she wouldn't be thrilled were I to propose to her with lines written by another...anyone at all!"

U.B.: "Wordsworth, sir?... Why, his compositions become the romantic mind...as well as those of Shelley's."

A.C.: "Excellent, take the rest of the day off!"

And hence, unless the f girl on e were suddenly compelled to go visiting a crabby old aunt instead, heartbreak would be inevitable. But I, on the other hand, went darting in between the cup and the lip, as it were, and caught the man off his guard.

I aha-ed. "Hammonds, spit it all out."

He grimaced at the young master's lack of naivety, drew a deep breath, and exhaled shakily. "If I may proceed sir, without interruption, I shall explain your valet's whereabouts to the best of my knowledge."

And thus Hammonds proceeded. And I sat spellbound, listened as agog as a thing that listens all agog. And by the end of his revelation, you could have knocked me down with a feather. But we Woosters are men of action and resolution.

I told him how well I appreciated his opennes with me, to which he responded by saying that honesty and allegiance to one's employer had always been the motto of his clan. I am not quite sure I know what a motto is, but I was hell bent to the get to the bottom of this murky issue, and beyond if possible.

"Hammonds," I commanded suavely, "Apologise to Maiden Eggesford on my behalf, and get me to New York before I say 'Hippety hoppety hie'!"

"With pleasure, sir."

**********************************************

If you will throw your minds back, readers, you will see that it _was_ after all an outburst of old-fashioned sentiments that catapulted me, segregated wardrobe and all, to New York, approximately a week later. Hammonds had unfailingly divulged anything and everything that I could have dreamt of finding out, right down to the most insignificant particle. As a result of which not only had I felt obliged to reward him handsomely, but was now languishing in Room 711, at the Hotel Meridian.

The laws of courtship recommend confounding one's beloved before she, or rather he has a chance to retaliate...if 'retaliate' is the word I seek. And though I had long surpassed the stage of merely wooing Jeeves, hardly had he entered with steps sedate, than I chirped and bounded right off the bed, onto him.

Jeeves was confounded upto three seconds, which nearly led me to believe that he had suffered a stroke, but he jogged back to his senses when I playfully nipped his ear.

"I say," I began, "Let's get to the point shall we?"

"I would readily advocate that, sir."

"But first, let's make ourselves at home," I suggested jovially. Jeeves lifted the corner of his mouth in agreement, and set about folding the coat I had slung of the back of an armchair, while I resettled on the bed.

"Jeeves, " I resumed, when he had poised himself in a chair opposite me, "An explosive state of affairs, what?"

"That does not begin to describe it, sir."

"Hammonds tipped me off on where exactly to bump into you."

Jeeves was quiet for a moment. "So I divined, sir."

I could not help but feel a tad sorry for him, but cautioned myself against anything more than a tad. The bloody best of the bargain was yet to come, and it not in a terrible hurry to do so. "_Who_ would have thought that Bertie Wooster, of all Nature's bachelors, would so blithely materialise in the Hotel Meridian?"

"An infrequent occurence I admit, sir. Especially since you no longer qualify as a bachelor." Saying which, he rose from his chair, wordlessly glided past me, and began fiddling with the pillows. Something like a hot friend cooling, if you get what I mean.

Hmm, said I to myself, this one's tricky. The last I remembered things having been as awkward betweeen us was before we had started out as a couple: Jeeves had caught me ogling him rapt, tall and dark in the moonlight. I was rapt, and he was in the moonlight, that is. So up I got and strolled over to stand behind him.

"Jeeves," I addressed him suavely, "How've you been killing time in New York..."-to which he tensed a little-"you know, apart from tucking your poor aunt into bed every night?"

There followed a pregnant pause during which I could, much to my relief, hear his grey cells spinning. He abandoned the pillows and slowly turned to face me, a smile flickering across his features. If he had been any less stoical he as well might have hollered and slapped me across the back.

"It may distress you, sir, to know that my aunt underwent exacting psychiatric treatment, which required my undivided attention."

"Tchah! I don't exactly know what 'exacting' is, but I suppose she would take the loony therapy from none but you?"

"Insightful, sir. However, even if her perception of outsiders is no less questioning, my stay in New York has not been unduly demanding."

I waited with bated breath as a smile played on his lips. "That apart, sir,"-and here I craned forward to catch his words,-"I consider myself fortunate to have found time for"-and here I expected what those twittering priests call an 'epiphany'-"the boundless joys of the New York night life."

Well, you can imagine what a sock in the jaw that gave my constitution. Now do not go waggling your fingers at me. Not only had I heard legends of the night life in New York, but I was all for the solemn lad letting his hair down...metaphorically speaking. However if there ever was an epiphany that gave an unassuming fellow hiccups, this was that epiphany, for it certainly was not the variety I had anticipated. But we Woosters take hiccups in our stride, especially if they involve our significant others.

"Right ho! Keep rolling Jeeves."

"The pulse of New York is its night life, sir. Rather than a mere cascade of entertainment and activity, it is an embodiment of extravagance and vitality..."

And though Jeeves continued in a manner that might have triggered a monk to go and embrace the good life, I could feel my heart sink with every blooming praise he heaped on another. Here I was, lending an ear to the one I loved as he raved in his restrained manner about the who's who of the New York social circs, yet feeling as aloof and helpless as I had when he had shimmered into his room. I'm not getting the approach, thought I, he's as oblo...oble...oblivious of the whole damned thing as ever. That was before I heard him say:

"-it thrills and overwhelms; it exhausts one of one's energy but intensifies one's enthusiasm-"

"Eh?"

Jeeves blinked serenely and paused momentarily. "Nothing, sir, that I can imagine, thrills, overwhelms or exhausts as much."

Eyes glazed and tone resolute, he was championing the case in a manner likely to jostle my stand. So far, the conversation had taken what I had heard him describe as a 'bizarre turn', and under the circs. a namby pamby would have been left scratching his head. But little could Jeeves guess the impact of his words on my imagination, which has incidentally been accused by Aunt Agatha of being a wastrel's plaything. There were at the moment fireworks in the upper storeys, that sort of thing. And thought I was not upto the armpits in bright ideas, I had definitely hatched a whopper.

"Pshaw!" It was not an expression I used often but the situation called for it.

"Sir?" came the boffled - or is it baffled? - reply.

"Nothing, I merely said 'Pshaw!'. You're talking through your bowler."

"Indeed, sir? Why is that?"

"That is because in all your three decades of experience, your closest encounter with 'overwhelming' has been at a posh pub. I say, you've never quite...erm...been plonked in the mulberry bush, eh?"

"Deposited, sir, in a mulberry bush? Not that I recall."

I had thought as much. Struggling to keep a straight face, I continued, "What I've got in store thrills and exhausts a great deal more than all you've described so far. Beats your New York night life."

A slim eyebrow flickered as he folded his arms across his chest. "Indeed, sir? Would you be so kind as to elaborate?"

"Demonstrate, man, not elaborate. But before you get all knock-kneed in anticipation, let's strike a bargain. If you win, that is to say if after tonight you still prefer to go cruising the nightclubs, then you must only name a condition and I shall see it fulfilled, tally-ho. And...vice versa...you know how it runs. So, all struck?"

A subtle smirk of supreme confidence lit up the fellow's handsome brow, as he mentally sealed the fate of my wardrobe. "With pleasure, sir."

Taking my cue, I rapidly closed the distance between us and picked up where we had left off a week ago. Sliding my arms up the broad arch of his back, I kissed Jeeves full and hot on the mouth. He opened the aforesaid opening in shock, and I eagerly probed in with my tongue.

Jeeves moaned helplessly as I sucked his soft lower lip into my mouth, and after a bout of self debate, uncrossed his arms and shakily embraced me. I then proceeded to stage two, viz. knotting the fingers of one hand in his wonderfully thick dark hair, while the other slid lower, lingered yearningly in the dip at the small of his back, and moved on to palm his exquisite bottom.

The effect was top notch. Jeeves broke the kiss and his knees immediately buckled to send him crashing, rather gracefully if I may add, onto the bed behind us. I lost not another moment in leaping right on top, while fighting to control the giggles. This was untrodden territory and I was having a ball.

It was Jeeves' slightly breathless suggestion that we comfortably rearrange our fully clothed selves, and I quickly complied. Once done, I proceeded to explore the man's marvellous body. A snappy introduction, if you will permit readers. Though clothes throw dust in a chap's eyes, as far as the beauty of the masculine form goes, I have long discovered that Jeeves is an undisputed winner. Tall and strapping, with perfect proportions, he could give any Greek god a run for his olive wreath.

I covered Jeeves' chiselled jawline with wet kisses, and then moved futher south to shower them all along his swan-like neck, eliciting a short gasp every time I nipped or sucked a patch of skin. My hands themselves trembled with impatience as they gripped and massaged their way down the sides of his sculpted torso onto his narrow hips, cherishing every inch along the way.

"May I?" I whispered in his ear.

"By all means, sir," he replied, strains of urgency in his tone.

I grinned and dove back onto his chest. Breathing into his neck, I busied my fingers in loosening his tie and unbuttoning his waistcoat. Jeeves was more than just a wee bit breathless by the time I devoted my lips and tongue to his chest. It rose and fell rapidly as I swept across it, pressing my mouth and sucking at intervals. He gasped suddenly as I took a pink nipple in my lips, but tried to pull himself together. However he clutched desperately at the bedclothes as I sucked leisurely, switching attentions between the rosy nubs.

I drifted lower, sprinkling warm sloppy kisses all over his impossibly flat stomach. Restraint slipping, Jeeves' fingers hesitatingly found their way into my hair as I dipped my tongue in his navel. I dropped tiny kisses all the way down his lower abdomen till I was hit by the musky scent.

Jeeves hoisted himself up on the elbows and glanced at me, slightly befuddled. "What are you attempting, sir?" he asked, eyes glowing and his tone a few notches higher.

I shakily unbuttoned the last of his trouser buttons, and chuckled up at him.

"Lift your hips a litle," I pleaded hoarsely.

No less fuddled than before, Jeeves obliged, slipping his fingers from my hair, and supporting himself off the bed. Without a moment's delay I had him de-trousered and then proceeded to eliminate the undershorts.

I trailed my lips up the inside of a perfectly toned thigh, and pressed a little kiss to the hollow of an angular hipbone as Jeeves shuddered in anticipation. He flopped - or should I say descended - back onto the pillows, and waited with eyes shut, lips parted.

I drank in the scent of his sex, and applied my lips to the other thigh. Jeeves' guttural moans filled my ears as I migrated inward, and soon enough, his fingers were sliding back into my hair. Resistance crumbling, Jeeves let loose a low-pitched howl as I sucked on his testicles, slipping my tongue deep in between them.

That was what I have heard Spode refer to as a 'catalyst'. All gentlemanly modesty went poof when I claimed hin in my mouth. Jeeves immediately tightened his grip on the Wooster mop, groaning frantically.

I dipped my hands under his knees and deftly scooped up his thighs to rest them on my shoulders, and then returned to the musky warmth. I alternated between teasing the length with soft kisses, gently scraping my teeth along the sensitive underside, and lapping around the tip. Jeeves shuddered and moaned helplessly, unconsciously tugging on the roots. I ceased to tantalise as I looked up in a haze of desire.

"Beautiful," I murmured half aloud, greeted by the sight of his swollen testicles and curved arousal. Jeeves breathlessly clawed at me hair, and so I obliged instantly.

I plunged down, opening my mouth wider and taking the quivering flesh deep inside. It had been quite some time since I had last nibbled at a man's gems but the old technigues came flooding back with renewed passion. Jeeves was leaking heavily, and I hungrily suckled harder, swirling my tongue over and over his creamy flesh.

Within moments he was groaning deeply, his hips bucking urgently. I gripped his flanks and doubled my efforts, milking Jeeves' throbbing manhood with lips and tongue. He clenched his fists in my hair and cried out in complete abandon, as my mouth was explosively flooded with the evidence of his enjoyment. I drank every trace of the warm fluid, greedily milking him till he could give no more.

I planted a quick kiss on each thigh and scrambled back up to capture Jeeves' lovely mouth with my own, granting him a taste of his own joy while he recovered.

Jeeves weakly curled his fingers on the nape of my neck, as I blew a stream of cool breath over his pearly forehead. I myself was now taut and throbbing painfully with arousal, but it now looked as if I had topped the bargain even before half the demonstration was done.

Jeeves did not see eye to eye with me on this, though. His unpractised hand sought out the hardened flesh I has desperately pressed up against his thigh, and lingered there till I bit my lip.

"How do you propose to tackle this, sir?" he whispered, pupils dilated with curiosity and concern.

I buried my face in his neck while my hand unfel...unfil...unfalteringly scampered over his hips and caressed his well-rounded posterior. However I reluctanly withdrew both face and hand and pulled myself up to a sitting position.

"You know, I don't read too many randy novels, so I bloody well haven't a clew as to how one goes about voicing his amorous - is it 'amorous'? - intentions, and all that gobbledygook... I just need you, Jeeves." My voice was hoarse with pent-up love and lust. "I've always dreamt of possessing you... But if you-"

Jeeves too elevated himself to an upright position, buttocks on heels and knees wide apart on the bed. He smiled mysteriously at me, or should I say there was a mysterious twitch at the corner of his mouth. His unduly nervous fingers reached out to unbutton the front of my trousers.

"It may astonish you, sir," he began in a low husky tone, "but despite my having maintained a safe distance from the lascivious dealings of men... and women... ever since you chose to wear your heart on your sleeve... I have... discovered... in myself... dormant cravings... to be... made love to... by you."

His pale cheeks had taken on a pinkish hue, that made me gape in wonder. He was done with my trousers, and his fingers now fumbled with my ruddy undershorts. I could not help touch his cheek with the back of my hand.

"Fancy that! You've been frightfully discreet, I must say."

Jeeves was practically behaving like a bashful female, and it excited me beyond measure. He tugged down my shorts, exposing my proud erection. His fingers skimmed the length uncertainly, and I fought to keep my wits.

"There is a stain on your breast pocket, sir." On another occasion he might have spoken with nose delicately scrunched but now the observation was made with a hint of amusement. I smiled sheepishly and pulled out from my pocket a little jar of oil, the lid of which had come loose as a result of my smuggling it from under Hammonds' nose at the last minute.

I watched Jeeves closely as I set it down beside us on the bed. He glanced upward, dark eyes glittering and full lips moist in anticipation. Breathing heavily, he took the hand that rested on his cheek, guided it down his side, over his hip, between his thighs, to the crevice between his buttocks.

"Take me, sir," he implored huskily.

That itself nearly undid me. I needed no further encouragement, instead I confidently cupped his buttocks to pull him closer, and snuggled in the haven between his bare thighs. Jeeves once again knotted his fingers in my hair, looking straight at me, chewing his lower lip like he had never before. I leaned in to playfully nip his earlobe.

"I think we should get down to multi-tasking, or at least I've heard that's another of your talents," I whispered bashfully.

"Sir?"

I frantically cocked my head in the direction of my aching erection. Jeeves blushed in response, and shakily reached out for the litle jar. He scooped out a generous amount with unpractised fingers and focussed on lathering it over and around my length. Suppressing a gasp, I occupied myself with him.

I dipped an index finger in the oil, and then went on to run it along the crevice, carefully burrowing deeper till I reached the prime portal, as it were. Jeeves was trembling in anticipation, as he continued to slick me up. I now smeared my first three digits with a coating of oil, and returned.

I inserted just the tip of my index. Jeeves gasped and tightened his hold on my length, and so I advised him now to rest his sweaty palms on my shoulders. Carefully, I slid in my entire index finger, all the while wiggling it a little to ease the tension. Jeeves let out a guttural moan and clung to my shoulders.

Slowly and steadily, I inserted a second digit. The result was another low-pitched groan, as he minutely pushed his hips up gainst me. With the third digit, I delicately prodded an extremely sensitive spot somewhere deep inside. Jeeves gave vent to a hollow groan of longing, thrusting down onto my fingers.

My own insides were now pounding with lust, so without further ado, I cupped his rump to elevate him ever so gently, and moved on to poise my own quivering length at the aforesaid portal. With a deep, husky cry of complete surrender, Jeeves readily impaled himself on my erection, and buried me deep within.

My strangled cries were drowned by the rhythm of our love making. I settled my hands on his hips, insane with desire as I pounded deeper and deeper into the hot furnace of the Jeevesian body. He on the other hand rocked steadily upon me, gasping aloud every time I hit the magic spot.

Jeeves' spent member was again slowly hardening with every thrust, and so I took the matter into my own hands. He hardly responded, so caught up was he in his own pleasure. And Bertram yet again witnessed the unforgettable, except that this time I was on the verge of release.

Jeeves' hands gradually drifted off my shoulders and fell beside him on the bed, as his torso arched away from me. If he had been listening to my accounts he might have said something like, "You have been lucidity itself, sir,", but the the picture was damned well worth visualising.

Jeeves on his heels and knees on the bed. Damp thighs cradling my hips. Arms stretched out out on the bed. Palms facing down, supporting his weight. Torso glistening with sweat, elegantly arched upward. Head thrown back. Dark hair tousled. Cheeks deeply flushed. Eyelashes fluttering. Lips parted. Hips flexing rapidly, as he pumped up and down on my lap.

I would label it as poetry in motion. Hammonds would probably squawk and scuttle if he were to get a slice.

Within moments I gripped Jeeves' hips, hollering out as I explosivley inundated his depths...if 'inundated' is the word to describe it. He too pumped his hips one last time before being claimed by his second release. We remained momentarily wrapped up in warmth and ecstasy, before I withdrew from him and we collapsed back onto the bed.

In addition to the afterglow, I was mentally, if not physically, all geared up to uncork the champagne and leap a couple of feet in the air. It is rarely that a chappie turms the tables on Reginald Jeeves while rendering both spiffed up and contented in the process. In fact, I could guarantee that a Wooster had been the first, and it would be ages before I could get over the fact.

Still panting, I rolled over and pressed a kiss to one slim eyebrow. His eyes eventually fluttered open and he gazed up at me.

"What ho, Jeeves, the cat's whiskers!" I chirped triumphantly.

"I am speechless, sir," he panted, a smile dancing on his lips.

"A what-d'you-call-it with the New York night life, then?"

"A comparative study, sir?"

"Ah yes, of course. So where to begin... Thrilling?"

"Yes indeed, sir."

"Exhausting?"

"Yes indeed, sir."

"Overwhelming?"

"Yes indeed, sir."

"Ahm... Intoxicating?" It was impossible to keep from bouncing on the bed, despite what had just preceded. Jeeves smiled up at me in surrender.

"As much as a sense of victory, sir."

I now sat right up, gloating inwardly, something I have been told Jeeves does a lot. The highlight of our fantastic evening together was yet to be highlighted.

"You do remember the conditions of the bargain, eh Jeeves?"

"I will honour them, sir."

"Very well then, brace yourself. I demand that you introduce me to your friends here... The New York Nocturnals, to be specific..."

The reaction was a jolly whopper. Jeeves bolted upright on the bed, and stared at me gobsmacked. That is to say, to the untutored eye he appeared mildly shaken, but he was gobsmacked all right.

"Sir?"

"Hammonds spilt the beans, Jeeves, every last one."

"Sir?"

"Very well then, I had to egg him but he did strip the act, as it were."

"Sir?'

"He disclosed the reason for your mysteriously frequent visits to New York. I had never given it much thought till it clashed with my plans."

Jeeves was silent and thoughtful for a minute, during which I could hear the machinery whirring furiously in his head.

"He demanded to know and so I confided everything in him, sir."

"And he confided in me."

"What did he tell of the New York Nocturnals, sir?"

"Here's the scoop, Jeeves. They're a highly popular organisation. Hammonds described them as 'an underground guild of deeply closeted, highly intellectual homosexuals', but he spoke as if he didn't think much of a display of affection between grown men."

"I confirm all of this, sir. What did he say of me specifically?"

"That you've been on the presidential committee quite a while, and you're one of the youngest and yet most distinguished members, and you have devoted ample time and energy to this organisation... Yes, that's it for the New York Nocturnals."

There followed a long pause, during which both of us were quiet, and Jeeves glanced away.

"I confirm everything you have repeated, sir. I suppose Hammonds never revealed the reason for my being so secretive... I was convinced that you would fail to understand the significance of such an organisation as the New York Nocturnals. I feared that telling the truth would have led you to bar me from coming abroad, and as I am on the presidential committee I cannot afford to miss out on a single session."

I sighed and crooked a finger under his chin, gently lifting his face to renew eye contact. "Jeeves, never again do I want you to think that I'll stand in your way if something really means a lot to you, even if I'm deuced fuzzy about it! I want you to be the President of the NYNs someday."

"Thank you, sir, I appreciate the gesture."

I pulled him into a long, deep kiss, stroking his smooth back comfortingly.

"Did Hammonds mention my aunt, sir?"

I gave him my most disarming grin. "Ah, the part I've waited for. As a matter of fact, he did. It turns out that you haven't a single crotchety relative in New York. In fact, Mrs. P. B. Pigott is a resident of Maiden Eggesford, and as per Hammonds' observations I've deduced that far from being anti-social, she's the awfully agreeable kind that would make Long John Silver want to throw aside his cutlas and cuddle up with his head on her lap for a bedtime story. A brilliant ruse on your part, anyhow."

"I am gratified that the fellow had a chance to redeem himself, sir."

"I say, Jeeves, you've most definitely got an introduction with the New York Nocturnals pending. But what if I extend my condition as the winner, and ask that you take me along in case you decide to go painting those marvellous nightclubs red, tonight?"

"Your wish is my command, sir."

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End file.
